Well, I guess there is one thing I forgot to mention about last weekend: The Cubs playoff meltdown. There really isn't that much to say about it. They were terrible, and nobody should be surprised about that. They had the worst record of any team in the post season, and had played miserably in Sept. (getting swept by the Marlins in the second to last series was a sign of things to come).

Regardless of the fact they'd fallen down 0-2 in the series and looked hopeless, I wanted to trek up the Wrigleyville to experience the Cub playoff phenomena (knowing this organization, it could be the only one they make while I'm a resident here, even if I'm a resident here for the next twenty years.)

It wasn't a crazy as I thought it would be. Clark St. was flooded, but it there didn't appear to be anymore people in the hood than there were during regular season games. Nor did there seem to be any general aura of excitement. It felt as though everybody already knew what was going to happen, and it wasn't something good.

It being a college football Saturday, the bars were doubly packed, so we ended up settling at a place a couple blocks away from the stadium that was packed, but not uncomfortable (I've seen it busier on random weekend nights).

After a couple drinks there, I decided to take a lap around the stadium before the sun went down to get a real glimpse of the atmosphere. As I walked out past right field on Sheffield I could feel the crowd noise crescendo. Something was starting to go the Cubs' way. As I reached Waveland there was a crowd of about a hundred or so that had formed in the front yard of an apartment complex in which someone had put a tiny TV in the window for passers by to watch the game. Everybody was staring at it intensely, including a dozen or so cops. It was the fifth inning (if I remember correctly) and Chicago had the bases loaded. The tension was building. With the bleachers to my back, I could feel it. Something needed to happen now.

But sure enough, as they had four times that game, Chicago quickly hit into a double play that ended the inning and pretty much squashed any momentum the Cubs had going their way. Silent and dejected, the crowd of onlookers turned and walked away. You could tell by the looks on their faces that was the final blow; next year was already on their minds.

I'd cozied up at another bar a couple blocks south of the stadium to watch the end of the game, and as each fruitless inning passed, the dispirited mob of fans leaving the friendly confines grew larger and larger. As I looked out at them I was glad that I'd not invested my entire life into being a fan of this team and that I could walk away from a defeat like this virtually unaffected.

It was beautiful fall Saturday evening, and there was a night of potential fun ahead of all of us, but nobody looked like they wanted a part of it. It was like they just left the funeral of a lost loved one, and wanted to do nothing but go home and try to forget about it.